


Pardon My Crime

by MindTrove



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Multi, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-03
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-06 05:46:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8737120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MindTrove/pseuds/MindTrove
Summary: When the veil was sundered by the Dread Wolf magic was restored, and despite predicitions all races across Thedas had survived. With the world restored to it's natural state it has seen a rise in prosperity and technology, as well as peace between all nations. Although some argue the strength of such an alliance.Ramia is an elf, which is obvious. Not so obvious, that she is werewolf. Living in seclusion on the outskirts of Denerim.When a string of violent murders poses her as the suspect this brings Abelas to her door, once a sentinel, now a hunter specialising in the disposal of creatures both magical and benign.  But things are not as simple as they appear, and something much more sinister may land both of these two into an uneasy and strange alliance to uncover the truth of all these sudden attacks and threats to peace.Ramia wants nothing to do with these turn of events, but it may be the only way to prove her innocence and clear her name.





	1. Pilot

In hindsight, living in a cottage on the outskirts of town with no friends probably was not the best way to avoid the situation Ramia found herself in now. In hindsight she would understand that this would make her a ripe suspect for the misfortunes that had befallen Denerim.

But it was a tad late for that, now that she was being chased through the forest. Gown tattered and muddied as she scurried through the bushes, ignoring the stinging pain when a branch would collide against a cheek or her hip. Squeaking in surprise and fear when she dared to look back and barely dodged a bullet to her knee, instead twisted to look ahead and keep running.

But she couldn’t run forever, not when a second bullet grazed her thigh. A searing and burning sensation burst through her body, causing her to lose balance and fall to the ground.

Her hands immediately clutched at her thigh as she hit the ground with a painful yelp, the silver sending agonising pain through her body despite the simple graze. It was a once foreign feeling to her, and she had honestly wished it was still that way as she fended off the nausea that threatened.

Her hair kept her face obscured as she tries to regulate her breathing. The sound of crunching leaves and wet earth filled her ears, her pursuer approaching with relaxed and slowed steps now that he had her down.

When Ramia looked up, her eyes grew wide with fear as she looked on her attacker. The man was an elf like her, taller than any she had seen and face marked with green branches. At any other type she would comment on the beauty of the work, but the unnatural gold of his eyes that they decorated came into view as he removed hat. They bore into her own with a cold indifference that sent a chill down her spine.

This man would kill her and feel nothing of it when he did. That knowledge alone made her instincts tell her to fight or flee, but she was almost paralysed with fear. How long had it been since her life was truly in danger? These calm and dull few years had made her reckless and lazy, and she was now paying the price.

The hunter revealed a gun from his long black cloak, the tool that had her gritting her teeth in pain at that very moment. Her attacker seemed to pay her no heed as his eyes lowered to the weapon, emptying the shells and replacing them with new bullets. Seeming to take his time, Ramia shifted slightly, foolish to try and run she thought. A try was attempted nonetheless.

Ramia cried out when a shot fired inches from her foot, her breathing quickening as she scurried back until she was halted by the large roots of a tree.

“Do not move.” Was all he said, gun pointed where he had directed the shot with the tell-tale smoke wafting past the barrel. Ramia’s eyes shifted to her side where the bullet had fired, the tree root, once thick and large had shattered to pieces. She shuddered to think what would have become of herself had this man chosen to shoot her instead.

He still appeared bored and disinterested as he pulled out a piece of paper, looking from whatever information laid across the page and to Ramia, twice before pocketing the paper into his clock. “Ramia Lavellan,” he addressed. “You are suspected for the murder of Mr. Rod Bartley, Hanwen Efurd and Ms. Caboch.”

“Caboche.” Ramia corrects, eyebrows drawn tight as rises to her feet. Barely. Her eyes widen a fraction as she gazes upon an emblem by his breast. Marking him as a hunter, the knowledge bringing with in an all new feeling of dread.

“I do not care.”  The hunter replies, gun lowered slightly at what he assumes was Ramia’s compliance. “Their deaths are not as important as the manner in which they came to their demise, beast.”

She feels his disgust roll of his tongue as he labels the word upon her. As his words finally register, that she is being blamed for the deaths of these people.

“I didn’t kill them!”

“A lone woman living in solitude in the woods? No family? No connections? Never to be seen once the sun has set?”

“I know it seems suspicious!” Ramia blurts, pushing forward and raising her hands in defence when the hunter raises his gun to halt her. “But I didn’t kill them! I…I don’t feed…It’s just better for me to be on my own…I like the townspeople, I would never hurt anyone of them, especially Mr. Bartley.”

“Enough.”

“He made really good bread.”

“Enough. Even if you are innocent of these crimes you are a werewolf,” his eyes lower to the wound on her thigh. “Silver never lies.”

“Hmpf.”

“You are also a blabber mouth, considering you offered the knowledge of your curse for me.”

Ramia cursed under her breath.

“Will you kill me?” She asks.

There would be no surprise if he did, from the moment he had caught her this hunter had looked upon her like a rotten corpse. His prejudice and hatred for her kind written as plain as day in his voice where his visage remained passive. But it was apparent she was wanted alive, as he put away his gun and motioned for her to approach.

“The people of Denerim will decide your fate, I-”

The sound of a blood-curdling scream echoed in the distance, alerting them both with confusion before followed a thunderous roar. It couldn’t be mistaken for anything else than a roar from a werewolf, so Ramia could not help allowing a slight feeling of smugness overcome her as she rose her chin high towards the hunter.

“You believe me now?!”

The hunter seemed uninterested as he charged off in the distance, leaving Ramia to decide whether to help or return to her home and set off before she could be caught again.

 

* * *

**_A little taste of an idea that's been swimming around in my head._ **

 

**_I'm still unsure what direction to take this idea, and the only thing that would really keep me updating it regularly would be feedback and knowing people actually would like to see more. Otherwise it'll be an indulgence._ **

 

**_Eitherway,[you can find me here if you'd like to chat or ask me questions about my fics](mindtroves.tumblr.com)! Or [here to see my regular updates](mindtrove.tumblr.com)._ **


	2. Guilty Until Proven Innocent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abelas' task isn't completely done and neither he nor Ramia have seen the last of each other.

By the time Abelas got to the source of the scream he was already too late.

One thing that was for certain when he found the unfortunate victim, was that this death was without any doubt connected to all the others. The woman before him was a grotesque display, and despite his experience in such matters his lip still curled in disgust and pity.

However, he pushed such feelings aside as he approached the body, heels sinking into blood soaked soil as he examined anything that may differ this victim from the others. Any sort of clue or sign to give an edge in finding the culprit. Gold eyes perked at the opened collar of the victim’s vest, his fingers reaching forward to pluck a tuff of fur snagged between the buttons. Humming approvingly as he wrapped the evidence in cloth and tucked it away.

Abelas could rest assured that this would hopefully be the last murder to plague Denerim. If the beast had any intelligence, it would find a new hunting ground. Already the city had set plans in motion to improve security and end this bloodbath.

He looks around him before depositing his weapons and pulling out a flare gun, firing into the air. Watching the light shoot into the sky and giving a long audible pause, at what the future might hold.

“This hunt is unending.”

 

* * *

 

“Can you confirm that this is your wife Lord Gorrin?”

The dwarf made a swift glance before ripping his eyes from the body, his hand clench tightly into a fist by the tabled as he refused to peer again at the corpse.

“Yes.” He muttered harshly, blinking away tears as he curbed his anger and pain.

Abelas watched from further back as the doctor covered the late Lady Gorrin and gave his farewells and condolences to the dwarven noble before returning to his desk. A brief exchange was made as the noble was promised his wife’s body once they found every possible lead they could find on the murderer.

Lord Gorrin seemed reluctant at first, he had been ranting and raving at the surgery for many days. But the sight of his wife must have compelled him. Abelas could see in the man’s eyes he wanted justice, whatever it meant.

“Be done within the hour,” Lord Gorrin commanded in hushed tones, a shaky hand coming to land where his wife’s face lay beneath the sheet, releasing a single escaped sob. “She must be returned to the stone.”

All in the room gave but a nod as the man was escorted from the room.

“Abelas.”

He grunts in acknowledgment, joining the three men that surround Lady Gorrin’s body. The doctor, like him is an elf, a meticulous man who unveils the body again to re-examine the body.

“Yes Doctor?”

“You say you managed to reclaim something at the scene no?”

Abelas nods, handing the cloth containing the fur he uncovered, the doctor’s eyes shine with interest as he almost cradles the sample and nods in thanks before leaving. Two other men still stand before Abelas, Arl Cousland and the Captain of the guard Sir Branyon. The former stood and stared like a man who wished to be anywhere else. The Captain on the other hand, had an iron intensity. Abelas remembers the first night he arrived to this city a scant few days before. Branyon took his role very seriously, angered by the series of deaths that had haunted the city of Denerim. That Abelas was still empty handed with nothing but a corpse only made the man more grieved and outraged that another death would go unpunished.

“It would seem we cannot pin these attacks on a normal being.” Branyon sighs. “This is not good.”

“Werewolves…are they not some simple fable fodder?” Cousland comments blandly. “I had thought them wiped out centuries ago.”

“The destruction of the veil did much over the last few hundred years,” Abelas interrupts. “The restoration of my people, spirits roaming free…it is not so hard to believe that mythical beasts of legend would return in full force. Although these creatures are a poor choice.”

“You seem to have a particular distaste good hunter.” The doctor mentions from afar and grabbing Abelas’ attention. Abelas regards the preoccupied elf, then down towards the body before him.

“Many beasts and monsters are mindless under the compulsion of their nature, werewolves are apart from this with sentient minds. Capable of higher thought.”

“And still they choose to kill,” The doctor finishes for him, hands clasped behind him as he joins the three men. “The struggle between man and beast can be a troublesome burden.”

“They will pay regardless!” Captain Branyon barks. “Is the girl we suspected the culprit?”

“No,” Abelas answers. “I had caught her when I heard the attack, she is not your murderer.”

“I see…”

“But she is a werewolf.”

The Arl and Captain jerk at the news, the captain’s hand twitching at the hilt of his sword.

“And you let her go?!”

The thought did occur for a moment in Abelas’ mind as he abandoned the woman to chase after the scream. It seemed irrelevant once he had learnt she was not the cause of these killings, but neither was she someone to be left to their own devices with the knowledge of her nature.

But…

“She was simply to track and capture,” Abelas explained. “I know her whereabouts, and in human form, so far as I know, she is slow. It did not take long for me to catch her when I had last night.”

That seems to placate the Captain, if only for a moment. Branyon turns to the Arl, at the end of the day it was Cousland who would make the order. The man had been silent for most of the exchange, until he looks up to Abelas, giving a long frustrated sigh.

“I understand that our alliance with your people is still young, and your presence here was but temporary. You seem much more experienced in these matters than we are Abelas, so I would ask that you help us further.”

“Why? It will be a simple matter to deal with Lavellan, you clearly refer to something deeper.”

The Arl is taken aback by Abelas’ forwardness and the ease with which he reads him. It is kept to himself however as he omits a more growing problem.

“Denerim is not the only city to be attacked by werewolves,” the Arl confesses. “Similar attacks have occurred all over Fereldan, it…unnerves me, it does not seem merely coincidental…”

“Spirits have been restless as well hunter,” the Doctor claims, with his own luminescent companion now miraculously by his side. Abelas can feel the discontent pouring from its form as it refuses to venture too far from the elf. The Doctor approaches him, with the elf closer Abelas can feel the restlessness of the spirit. How it never hovers too far from the doctor. “Our people have spoken of unrest near our own cities, there was even a rumour of creatures lurking their way through our network.”

“The Eluvians? Impossible.” Abelas argues, scoffs, but the doctor only replies with a shrug.

“It may be nonsense, but the Council have been informed regardless, and it is too dangerous a threat to ignore should it be true. It took great lengths to attain the peace and world we have now; it is in our best interest to see this as much a threat to our own people as well as theirs.”

Abelas nods in agreement. “There will be letters to send.”

“Do not trouble yourself with that,” Cousland interjects. “I will see to that myself, for now, retrieve Miss Lavellan and have her brought to court.”

“Why?” Abelas asks. “She is not responsible for these deaths.”

“But we do not know that for certain, and I will not abide her presence near my city, besides…she may be of use to us.”

* * *

 

“Well Faust, here we go again!”

The elaborately coloured parrot only seems to cock its head in reply as Ramia flittered at rapid speed from one part of her home to another. Pots, books and all assortments of junk drop and clatter about as she hastily prepares for travel.

“Six years Faust, I’ve poured six years into this bloody house and now I have to flipping pack and start all over again!” She muttered angrily as she shoved clothes into a suitcase. Every now and then she would look at a part of her home and her frown would deepen.

“I really liked it here…”

The parrot only squawked.

“Oooh, you’re no help!” She growls.

Ramia is so pre-occupied that she fails to hear the sound of a horse in the distance, and she jumps and shrieks when her door bursts open, the hunter from the night standing before her. Once she realises who it is a snarl curls her lips as she grips the shirt in her hands tighter. The damaged hinges of the door angering her further than just the sight of the man currently ruining everything for her.

“Don’t you know how to knock?!”

The man’s face is as bland and neutral as it had been the night before, and Ramia grits her teeth as he sarcastically bends his wrist and slowly knocks twice on the now damaged door.

“Now you’re just being a prick.”

The taller elf clears his throat and bends his head to enter the little home, his eyes hardening when Ramia conjures fire in her hand as she stands defensively. For a moment she wonders whether it is the right thing to do when the hunter’s fingers flex and he hones in on the magic conjured.

“A werewolf and a mage?”

Ramia gives him no answer, her lip quivers as she feels the barest hints of magic that’s not her own. The hunter it seems, is a mage himself, even if he was showing no obvious signs. It unnerved her, that he was no ordinary hunter was enough, but this made the plan of escape all the more difficult, if even possible.

For once, Ramia didn’t know what to do.

“You are still wanted Lavellan, you can spare your dignity in coming willingly…or not. The choice is very much yours.”

Ramia kisses her teeth.

“Charming…”

“I am the most charming person you will ever meet hunter,” Ramia declares. She shoves her suitcase closed, grunts as she lifts it, walks up and budges the man to the side as she reaches the front door. “Now move.”

She walks down the cobbled path of her now abandoned home. Ignoring the eyes she feels on the back of her head. The sound of an extra pair of feet on the path.

* * *

 

“Ramia!”

“Hello Mr. Mullner…”

“Been hearing some strange rumours about you.”

“Yeah…”

“And now here you are, slung up like a potato sack! Hehe…um…why?”

Ramia half-heartedly looks back at the hunter, groaning at the uncomfortable pressure to her stomach that his shoulder provides. Hands bound in front of her and trying to ignore the curious stares of the townsfolk.

“It’s a long story Mr. Mullner…”

Before the baker could question Ramia further she disappeared, the man coming into contact with a black cloak. Looking up to find two glaring yellow eyes staring down at him.

“I am sorry to cut your conversation short,” Ramia’s captor says, his features and words much softer when he’d realised the unease he gave the poor man. “Apologies.”

The baker only nodded rapidly as he watched the abnormally tall elf walk away with his quarry. Not taking notice of his neighbour who approaches with questions.

“I’ve never seen an elf so tall before,” She comments. “Do you think he’s one of those ancient ones? They said there were so few after the veil fell…Maker…”

“Hmm, I hope that girl hasn’t gotten herself into too much trouble.”

* * *

 

Ramia hoped she would never find herself in this predicament. Granted, being unceremoniously put down by that hunter she still knew nothing about was perhaps the worse alternative, but standing before the Arl, Captain of the Guard and a few higher elites of society felt no better either. All eyes on her, knowing what she was.

She fiddles with the hem of her dress, unsure what to say or how to say it. It felt useless trying to defend herself with the way they all stared at her, like she was no better than a dog. It was clear the Arl and Captain knew she was not to blame for the deaths, but from the way the others glared it was clear that such information was not shared.

“Miss Ramia Lavellan, it has come to our attention that your seclusion was for more than just privacy.”

“I…”

“You suffer from lycanthropy.”

The Arl proclaims it as fact. Perhaps it is better than calling her a beast or something else all the more spiteful. There is pity there as well. Unwanted. But that was a thought Ramia kept to herself.

“Yes my Arl…”

The nobles whisper amongst themselves at her confession. Some stare in shock and others glare, and it leaves a heavy pull in the stomach. It had been such a long time since she had last been caught, and she had forgotten how harsh the stigma towards what she was could be.

The Arl’s chair creaks as he bends forward to adjust himself. His face is grim, and Captain Branyon shares an unspoken acceptance before the Arl clears his throat to speak.

“While you may not be responsible for the recent murders in Denerim, it goes without saying that you cannot be left to wander free. And until we truly know the extent of how far these attacks go, your innocence has yet to be proven.”

Ramia’s jaw drops as the words sink in.

“But I didn’t kill them! I have lived her for six years Arl, six years!!!” She twists her head to the nobles. “Six years and these attacks have only come about in the last year alone!”

“Enough!” Branyon barks, his voice bellows through the chamber and brings everyone to a halt. “If you were human you would already be sent to the gallows, but you are an elf Lavellan.”

That he brings up her race answers the question of why they hadn’t already killed her yet. Ramia is silent as she waits for the inevitable sentence.

“We still abide by our treaty with the elves. Your own people will decide your fate.”

A silence falls over the room, Ramia’s eyes lower. There is fear, she feels it, but defeat makes her feet feel like lead and she wants nothing more than for the ground to swallow her whole. Until a throat clears to snap her out of it as they await her response.

“I…I understand…thank you my lord."

 

* * *

 

With her fate settled, Ramia was returned her belongings and told her guide would be waiting for her outside in the town square. As she descends the stairs from Denerim’s court she halts when she sees the elven hunter from before, and groans. Knowing without doubt he was to be her so called ‘guide’.

He waits patiently at the bottom of the steps, not having noticed her arrival as he watches humans, dwarfs and a few elves go about their day. Some people spare him shy glances, his black cloak giving him a menacing demeanour that made him stick out like a sore thumb. Not that he seemed particularly bothered

The slamming of her case by his feet is the only signal she gives him of her arrival, and to Ramia’s disappointment it doesn’t startle him. He only stares blandly at her to his pocket-watch before rising from a lamppost he leaned against.

“That did not take very long.”

“Where are we going?” Ramia asks curtly, far from any mood to have conversation with the man. Preferring to get this slowed execution over and done with.

“We will be going to Arlathan, a waste of time really…but it is not a humans’ place to decide your fate, which I am sure they told you.”

“Yes, they pretty much said the same thing…”

That seems to end any more discussion, Ramia bends slightly to grab her case. When she lifts her head the hunter’s gloved hand appears before her, she stares curious until he gestures to her case, offering to carry it. She’s tempted to say no to be petulant, but relents. Offering it and watching him carry the bag with ease.

“I am called Abelas.” He says, starting a pace. “It will be a long journey, and I doubt you respect me enough to call me Sir for the duration of it.”

“You’re right about that.”

 

 

* * *

Yay chapter two done! Hope peeps are still interested lol

 

Here's me [tumblr](mindtrove.tumblr.com)

 

Let me know what you guys think, what I can do better etc.

                                                                                                                                                                                                        


	3. All Aboard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ramia and Abelas hop on board the Imperial Express. A luxury train that travel to every country across the Imperial Highway. 
> 
> However, the trip does not go exactly to plan.

“Before we go…”

Ramia pauses and looks up at Abelas, and she realises just how much she dwarfs in comparison.

She remembers her childhood in Nevarra and the section of the city given to the elves. The sentinels there were one of the ancients she remembers her father telling her, older than the earth itself, before even the removal of the veil the elves had lived for centuries beyond counting.

She looks at Abelas and sees a familiarity between him and the ancients in Nevarra, most noticeably that tired worn gaze. The self-righteous stares and contempt came along with that, for both those who were not elves and even those like her mother and father. Elves who once knew the taste of mortality, respect and friendship to those like the ancients were hard won.

Despite restoring the world and seeing it’s progression socially and technologically, it felt like the ancients were still fixated on the past.

It made her wonder if immortality could really be considered a gift.

“Are you listening?”

“Huh?”

Abelas mumbles something under his breath before his eyes look to one of the many shops along their path.

“You will need a change of clothes.”

Ramia looks down at her dress, a simple frock, but favoured. For it was her mother’s design. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” She asks him, and she glares when he seems to peer from head to toe at her, clearly judging her choice of attire.

“Aside from the fact that we have a long journey so this dress is unsuitable? It is also an eyesore.”

“I like this dress thank you very much!” Ramia barks back, but before she can argue any further Abelas is pushing her towards a tailor shop. “Hey! Hands off, and stop pushing me!”

“We will be boarding the Imperial Express, and-”

“Wait,” she interrupts, staring wide-eyed. “The Imperial Express?!”

“Yes.”

“ **The** Imperial Express, that most expensive mode of transport in the world that can take you all over Thedas in a matter of days?!”

“Yes…”

Ramia pauses, stares down at her dress. Abelas is greeted to mortification plastered on her face.

“Oh my god…I can’t get on that train dressed like this!”

Abelas pinches the bridge of his nose, exhales heavily. “No…you can’t.”

“We should get me a new outfit.”

“That sounds like a wonderful idea Lavellan.” He sighs, how this girl managed to chew away at his willpower was a mystery. Abelas had always thought himself a patient man.

If Ramia noticed any sarcasm at his response she made no comment, instead heading straight towards one of the shops aligning the busy street. It differed from the one Abelas had been intended to take her to, and he groaned when he noticed it was one of the dwarven owned tailor stores. Wondering how big of a hole would be burning his wallet as he reluctantly followed Ramia into the shop.

 

* * *

 

From all his travels Abelas always made something of note, and that was the fact that no matter where his duties took him, dwarves always had a way of keeping the designs of their establishments to have the same style, ambience and service. All the human and elvhen shops seemed to adapt to the country they resided in, but the dwarves always had the same deep rich tones and dimly lit settings that made them incredibly warm and welcoming. Always a blessing when he found himself in colder climates like Fereldan, he always tried to seek out dwarven inns, shops and restaurants whenever he could.

When you were freezing your arse in Emprise Du Lion you learnt not to be picky. Abelas still wonders how he lived with all limbs intact after that venture.

This tailor shop was no different, the owner sat at their desk with a warm smile and his hands busy at work on designs. He gave a nod to Abelas and Ramia both and silently left them to peruse the items on display. Another aspect of their services that he enjoyed, while elves behaved in a similar manner they acted with a sense of disinterest more preoccupied and confident that you would leave spending your money regardless. The dwarf at the counter did not approach, but he watched attentively, ready to notice a customer in need of help and advice if need be.

“Looking for anything in particular?” The dwarf asked them, he was an elderly man, groaning slightly as he left his seat and approached Abelas and Ramia. He walked with a cane, a slight limp to his steps.

“Something tasteful yet practical for Miss. Lavellan.” Abelas gestured to Ramia, who stood at attention, all too aware as the dwarf eyed her figure. More clinical than in any unsavoury way.

“We’re taking the Imperial Express.” She chimed in with a smile. Seeming to forget what actually awaited her at the end of their trip.

The owner chuckled at her enthusiasm, lifting his fingers to gesture them to follow further inside. Abelas grumbled quietly to himself as they were lead to where he knew the high-end, expensive attires were kept.

 

“Cute brown coat…nice boots and all!”

Ramia hummed a tune as she twirled in front of the mirror, frowning until she lifted her hair and was satisfied with the change, pulling a ribbon from a nearby table to tie up the numerous curls into a simple pony-tail.

A dwarven lady, whom the owner had introduced as his wife had seen to the handling and advising of the outfit she currently wore. She grinned up at the girl, hands on her hips proudly at another clearly satisfied customer.

“And fitting enough that you won’t be needing any corsets or any of that,” the owner’s wife added, handing a black bow tie for to add to the ensemble. “Not to mention it suits you.”

Ramia smiled at the compliment, her attention drawing to Abelas who scowled at the shop desk as he was handing the owner the money for the outfit. Ramia snickered as she approached him, smug as she twirled one more time just for him. Abelas’ eyes narrowed on her before pushing her out the shop as they made their goodbyes.

“Thank you Abelas.” Ramia says in a sickly sweet tone, her eyes catching her reflection every chance she gets and grinning.

“Enjoy it while you can.”

“Oh shush, where to now?”

“Drakon Station.”

 

* * *

 

The large goliath of a clock that sat at the centre of the station struck ten o’clock when Abelas and Ramia arrived at Drakon Station. She had not expected it to be so large, until Abelas informed her that the Imperial Express was not the only train that could be ridden out of Fereldan. That made the congestion of people make sense, from all walks of life people came here to travel all over the country. Some hurried and yelled while others seemed more calm and collected with just a hint of impatience. There were small cafes that dotted the entire station as they traversed through, all Kossith-owned, which was no surprise. The giant horned folk dominated that particular market, since no one in their right mind could resist or outdo the teas they brewed and served from their homeland.

And once they got their hands on coffee well…everyone was wonderfully doomed.

Ramia hoped there’d be time before boarding the train to finally try out one of those cafes for herself.

It was fortunate that there was no particular time that they needed to arrive at Arlathan, the line that both Ramia and Abelas waited in was not particularly long but seemed to move at an excruciatingly slow pace. Abelas seemed accustomed to such queuing, despite his expression seeming no different than usual, Ramia could tell there was a certain blankness to it, like his brain had shut off. Using enough awareness and brain power to move forward when the line would progress.

Ramia gave a long irritable sigh, interrupted by a deep chuckle that came from behind her.

“First time travelling?”

When she turned around a tall human man dressed impeccably greeted her. Small aging lines and greyed sides gave him away to be much older, but his smile was kind as he looked down at Ramia, so she laughed in response, turning to give the man her full attention.

“It is, so lovely here though, and busy! All this waiting though…I could definitely do without it.”

“You will grow accustomed to it; it can’t be helped unfortunately.”

The began a small rapport, at some point Abelas turned to watch the exchange with suspicion before Ramia glared at him to stay out of it, apologising on the hunter’s behalf as she continued her conversation. Abelas scoffed as he pulled her collar every now and then to stay close as the line moved, ignoring her complaints.

“So where are you off to then may I ask?” The gentlemen inquired.

“Arlathan.”

“My, my! That is quite the journey.”

Ramia opened her mouth to explain further until she was pulled at the wrist to one of the ticket booths.

“Hey!”

“Enough,” Abelas warned, giving her one final glare before shifting his features to be more soft as he spoke to the woman behind the glass window. “Two tickets for Arlathan, please.”

Ramia watched with curiosity as the lady behind the counter procured tickets, handing them to Abelas who took a pen from his breast pocket and signed them. Noticing him sign her name upon the other.

When she looked off to the side she noticed their tickets were a tea-dyed colour compared to a separate passenger, her brows furrowing at the difference.

“Why don’t our tickets look like theirs?” She inquired.

“Because,” Abelas began. “The ones we are purchasing will allow us to board the Imperial any amount of times before we reach our destination, just in case we should need to leave at any stop before Arlathan.”

“Will we have to?”

“I don’t intend to, but I will not take the chance.” Abelas finished, handing the tickets back to be stamped. His eyes locking on Ramia when swiped her ticket from his grasp as he was handed them. “They are expensive, do not lose it. Or better yet, hand it over.”

“No,” Ramia spoke back, clutching the ticket between her fingertips against her chest. “I want to keep mine.”

Before Abelas could argue further she was already turning around and wandering off, saying goodbye to the man she had been speaking with prior as she moved with a pip in her step.

The train was something to behold once they had arrived at their platform, and Ramia stared with wide eyes and mouth agape.

“Wow.”

“I suppose that would suffice to describe it.”

Ramia rolled her eyes, jumping in surprise when steps appear to help them onto the train. Abelas gestured to the left, and Ramia was more than happy to rush into one of the available seating for passengers. The deep rich reds and browns made the interior of the train incredibly cosy, the design liken to what you would expect in lounge or bedroom. Plush seats in front of each other with large windows, and room above to store her case, which Abelas currently did as Ramia took in their surroundings.

Their particular seats kept a table between them as they sat, which was probably a good thing. As the bustle of this morning’s sentence on her life and getting their travel sorted kept them distracted, the moment of silence and chance to take those events brought Ramia back to reality.

 A reminder that she was a prisoner without chains. she seemed to stiffen at the knowledge, as both of them waited for other passengers to board the train. The sharp piercing sound of the train whistle took them both from their thoughts, bodies jerking at the first start up before the train finally set off.

Ramia quickly opened the window beside them and looked back to the platform. Some people ventured back inside the station, others stared and waved with tear stained cheeks as their figures grew smaller and smaller. Until there was nothing but the Fereldan countryside to gaze at.

“Is Arlathan far away?”

“Yes.”

Ramia keeps her eyes to the fields, the hunter seems to be studying her and the weight of his gaze is heavy. As if he is waiting for her to do something he deems foolish or dangerous.

_She isn’t as dumb as he probably believes her to be, but that she kept to herself. That was something she always kept to herself. Let him think her easy to steer from one direction to the other._

_He clearly still saw her as dangerous, which was absurd in her mind._

“I meant, since we’re taking this train, will it still take us a long time to get there?”

“There is only one eluvian that leads to the gates of Arlathan, and it resides in Tevinter.”

“Tevinter is a long way away, is that where you live? Where you work?”

“No…and yes,” Abelas pauses briefly as tea and comforts are brought to them, giving a small nod of thanks. He pours himself a cup as well as one for her, adding cream and sugar to Ramia’s. Abelas ignores the way Ramia scrunches her nose at his plain untampered with tea. “My home no longer exists and hasn’t for a very long time, the Elvhenan now cannot compare to what it wishes to be.”

The omission reveals a facet of Abelas that Ramia had been curious about, her breath catches from the surprise of it.

“So you really are ancient, and with markings that must make you sentinel. I didn’t think I would ever meet one.”

“Well now you have,” Abelas cuts in. The sharp response followed by a sip of his cup gives many indications that the subject of his nature was not something he wished to discuss with her. “It is not something you need to know about.”

“Oh yes, why have a civilised discussion to pass the time? When you don’t think I’m civilised in the first place.”

“Don’t I?”

“You chased me like a bloody animal last night you…you…,” Oh Ramia wished they were not in public, having a heated discussion under hushed tones was certainly not her strong suit. “And now you’re sending me to my slaughter. That’s what is going to happen isn’t it? You’ll take me to Arlathan and god knows what will happen then, everyone thinks I’m a murderer when all I’m trying to do is mind my own business with clean hands.”

Abelas listens in silence.

“That’s what my hands are Abelas, clean. I have never killed **anyone.** Not even when I first turned.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, so you can stop looking at me like I’m some mongrel, or like I’ll turn at any minute and eat someone’s face off!”

“Let us get through this journey in one piece, then maybe I’ll believe these nonsensical lies.”

Ramia stared dumb founded, hands clenched under the table. How easily he dismissed her words angered her, this entire situation infuriated her. When she first set foot on the train she had been distracted by the wonder of it, but now it’s walls and demand for propriety suffocated her. And she had nowhere to go, Abelas would not allow her out of his sight.

She needed to do something, and soon.

It must have been well into an hour by now, the tea they were given had long gone warm. Not nearly hot enough to continue to enjoy and Ramia was too shy to ask for more, so she settled on the last few shortbreads left on the tray before the whole thing was taken away.

She blew out air flopping back into her seat, boredom already settling in.

“How long have we been on here?”

“Already disenchanted by the Express? There a lounge of sorts further in.”

“I can go?” Ramia asks, and she hates how she has to ask permission for the simplest of tasks.

“We can go,” Abelas confirms as he rises from his seat. “So long as you are not put off by smoke and scotch permeating the air and your senses.”

The one aspect of the Imperial Ramia didn’t like was the hallways that led to the more private carriages between their seats and the lounge. They were narrow, requiring Abelas and her both to walk one behind the other and pray no one approached from the direction they were moving towards. A sudden shout muffled by the closed doors stilled them both.

It seemed to be a row between two men, it grew more and more intense, one voice growing louder and angrier than the other. They intended to move on and mind their own, but the voice that had been shouting louder than the other had suddenly gone quiet after a single gasp. The sound of wood breaking suddenly hit, there began the sound of fighting, and the beginnings of a scream before it was silence. Followed by a snapping.

The new-found silence left a chill in the air, and when Ramia looked up to Abelas, his face shared her suspicion and caution. His hand coming to rest on her lower back as he pushed her away in the direction they came from.

Was it his intuition that told him there was something more sinister afoot? She couldn’t say. But he seemed to be alert and ready in the way one did for battle.

“Return to our seats,” He whispered, unmoving until she did as he demanded, tension coiled in his grip when unnatural sounds began from inside the closed off room. “Speak to no one, and do not attempt anything foolish. Do you understand?”

Ramia gave nothing but a swift turn back in the direction they came as her answer, her steps slow as her curiosity at what lay behind those doors beckoned her. Stopping at the screen door that connected their current carriage to their own.

Abelas made no move to knock, only opened the door, eyebrows raised and his grip on the handle hard at the scene before him.

Blood caked and soaked the brown carpeting below, a portly gentlemen laid on the ground. Motionless, and the life gone from his eyes as they remained half open. A large gaping wound protruded from his neck, his head barely connected to what was left of his body.

And there, standing over him, a lone suit clad gentlemen. The man from the ticket station specifically, that Abelas recognised instantly, who Ramia had been speaking with. Blood was across his mouth and hands, as he turns stared back at Abelas.

A sharp laugh left the man. There was no way to talk himself out of this, his dumbfounded expression as he shifted on the balls of his feet gave every indication of his guilt if the blood and body wasn’t enough.

“The hunter from Drakon Station.”

Abelas made no move to speak to him straight away, his eyes lingering on the man’s hand that was hastily being shoved into a glove. The abnormal amount of hair not missed by his keen eye.

“You know I am a hunter do you?”

“Well, there is no point in playing dumb now is there?” The man commented as he spread his arms out to the slaughter before him. Abelas’ fingers twitched under his cloak, the smell of death clung in the air as he slowly moved closer to his holster.

“I don’t suppose asking you to walk away would work would it?” The sound of the pistol readying in his hand is heard by them both. The gentlemen gave a low chuckle. “Ah…but then that would be useless, since I would have to kill you regardless. Both you and the girl, charming little thing that she is.” There is a second cadence that follows a step behind his normal tone of voice, a deep guttural sound.

“A pity.”

 

* * *

 

Ramia watched Abelas take a few steps inside the room before disappearing from sight, a few minutes pasted in silence, unsure whether to heed him or wait where she was.

Until she heard the sound of gunfire, and a large feral howl.

She gave a loud squeak when the entrance Abelas went through was now splinters, the hunter slamming against the opposite wall with eyes blown white and teeth bared as he reached for the gun that had fallen at his feet.

When he bent to quickly grab the weapon his eyes fell on her, anger rising as his eyes pierced into her own.

“What did I tell you?!” He snarls, but he’s cut short. A large clawed hand coming to grasp his neck. The thunderous sound of gunfire bludgeons their ears as he fires against the creatures’ wrist, but all it does is growl in annoyance.

“A werewolf…” Ramia whispers, eyes darting back and forth to the sun piercing through the windows. “How?!”

Werewolves shifting in the day was an impossibility, everything Ramia had scoured for in Fereldan told her this. But now wasn’t the time for those questions, as the fight before her goes in full swing.

The corridors were terribly narrow, and Abelas is hurdling and avoiding swipe after swipe, not enough room to manoeuvre or do any substantial damage to the beast as he tries to keep it occupied. The creature has him down again but pauses, following its line of sight as it takes notice of Ramia, who still stands at the end of the halls.

That way it’s giant jagged teeth gleam as it opens its jaws, hind legs bending, ready to propel itself forward gives her that much needed fear and adrenaline to finally start running. Ripping the door open and running as fast as she can.

“Neither of you will leave this train alive!” It roars as it begins its chase.

“Run, run, run, run, run, run, run!!!” Ramia mutters hastily under her breath as she barges past people, making note to push them far to the side. She hears screams, turns back and sees the beast gaining, large stretches of debris and dented wood left it it’s wake as it ignores everyone and everything but her. A mass of fur, claws and teeth sending her screaming as she tries to run faster.

When she reaches her seats her suitcase is laid on the table. Open and guarded by a parrot, the same one back from her cottage. It squawks, talon tapping against a lantern sat atop her clothes.

“Faust?! How did you…? Nevermind!”

She grabs the lantern, whimpering and stomping her feet in worry as she hears the wolf nearing. It calls her name in that strange dual voiced tone she is all too familiar with. The same tone she once heard in herself when she turns. An unnatural thing that always frightened her.

But she quickly finds what she is looking for, a metal pipe that extends, attaching it to her lantern. Faust caws once, twice before flying further into the train before Ramia stands at eye level with the pieced together device.

“Fire’s probably a bad idea…” She thinks out loud to herself. “Ooh!” In place of a bulb or candle, the lantern, once empty now comes to life with a ball of swirling air. With a stomp of her foot a large mass of wind is sent charging towards the werewolf. Ramia closes her eyes shut, hair blown back as she musters as much magic as possible to attack him, everything around her flying into disarray. It sends the monster flying back through the train, an attack not meant to hurt but buy her time for escape.

While she has time she quickly dashes for her suitcase again, teeth gritted as she tries grab as much of her things as possible.

“Where is it?!” Ramia yells, scrambling about as she tries to find a particular tome she had stashed away before the subsequent arrest in her former home. Her eyes land on a patch of grey under some bloomers, pushing the garments aside and sighing with relief to find the book. “Oh thank the gods.”

A sound of gunfire jumps her out of her thoughts and she looks ahead. Abelas has the beast pinned, blood dripping from a wound at his temple. But he seems oblivious to it, eyes trained on the creature as he tries to get an attack in. The wolf is fast however, and clever, leaving no time as it fights back relentlessly.

“Werewolves don’t shift in the day…it’s impossible…” Ramia claims, watching the battle from afar, unsure whether to involve herself or allow Abelas to go it alone. She wants to seek out the knowledge hidden in her tome, but cannot as she looks down at its seal. “Things have gotten very, very bad…”

Ramia comes to a halt as she feels the tremors of magic take into the air, her hairs stand on end and her skin prickles. Lightening dances along the silver of Abelas’ bullets and he finally manages to find an opening. Both the beast and Abelas seem unperturbed or distracted by the screams of the passengers or the destruction that is caused in their wake, the carriage they occupy long since abandoned as the officers who finally arrive are terrified and confused at what to do.

One of said officers grabs at Ramia’s arm, for a split second she is ready to attack. She won’t be taken away again-

“It isn’t safe for you, madam! Please, this way, now!”

She takes a deep breath, relieved that it is an act of kindness and not a threat. She gives one last look towards the hunter, at the mercilessness and empty-eyed clinical precision as he attempts to kill the wolf.

The same look that had chased her in the night, the same look when she was ready to die at his hand.

“Yes sir.”

The officer’s grip softens when he sees the fear is directed slightly at him and not just the beast, gently guiding her to another policeman. A much younger man, paled and sweating as he tried to remain calm at the situation.

There are a series of gunshots that pierce the air, one after the other, punctuated by howling screams. Ahead Ramia sees that Abelas gained the up hand, his pistol cocked in the wolf’s mouth as he fired each shot. Uncaring as blood caked his cloak and speckled across his jaw.

Ramia understands completely that the werewolf had intended to kill her just as much as it wanted to kill Abelas. The reason specifically, unknown to her, what she does know as she sees it’s body rise and fall as it clings to the last vestiges of its life, it’s jaw moving in that unnatural way as it spoke to the hunter. As she watches she knows that she could have easily been in its place.

If it had been a full moon the night prior, Ramia would be the one lying in a pool of her own blood waiting for Abelas to execute her without care for who she was.

_This is Belle Marché Station, Val Royeux. Please collect all your belongings before exiting the train._

The announcement recites again in Orlesian and the words echo in her mind. Her eyes darting between Abelas, the ticket in her hand and the opening doors. The process repeating as she frantically decides on her next actions.

Faust squawks, the bird flying out of the train and flying overhead past the bustling crowds, he calls for her again and it seems to be the last bit of convincing she needs as she glares at Abelas.

She pushes past passengers, ignores the hunter calling her name in that infuriatingly bossy and demanding tone. She hears him again, louder and angrier and it send a bolt of fear in her heart as she grips her suitcase tighter and speeds her steps.

Ramia wasn’t an animal, and she wouldn’t allow Abelas to send her to the slaughter.

 

* * *

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